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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29093364">Perfect</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/1Procrastinating1/pseuds/1Procrastinating1'>1Procrastinating1</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Metro 2033 &amp; Related Fandoms, Metro Exodus</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Making Out, Pining, Sam being a mess, touch starved</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 12:28:21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,282</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29093364</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/1Procrastinating1/pseuds/1Procrastinating1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Idiot share a talk and some wine... and a bit more.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Sam/Idiot, Sam/Sergei</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Perfect</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>     Physical contact has always been important to Sam. As a kid, he was constantly affectionate with his friends and family. Whenever he had a crush, he was physically clingy to the boy or girl and would take every chance he could get to be close. In middle school, people began to be less accepting of Sam’s touchy disposition. Because of his sudden rejection, he began to repress the side of himself that craved physical contact throughout late middle school and most of high school. He fell in with the stoners and surfers, despite not even being that good at surfing, because he thought that would redeem his weird faze. He assumed if he hung out with those people and gave into his want to just be a relaxed Californian, he would seem cool. He would no longer seem like a needy freak, and maybe people would be fine with being close to him again.</p><p>     After graduating high school and being enlisted in the marines, Sam still possessed a want - or need, rather - for contact. Even in drills, when his fellow soldiers would spar in close combat, he felt the need to continue. He just wanted to be close to someone else. Throughout his time in the marines, he hated that part of himself that craved like that.</p><p>     Why couldn’t he just be normal? He already had this abnormality with his sexuality, why must he be cursed with more? Wasn’t it enough for god to make him this weird sort of half queer? Bisexuality was what it was. It’s what he learned from his friends, from taboo magazines, from random people at those gay bars that he definitely didn’t go to, <em>why would you even think that, dad? </em></p><p>     Of course, Sam experienced love during his enlistments. Some of which he acted upon, some he didn’t. He always relished in any moments he could get with the ones he pursued, though. Any pats on the back, brushing fingers, lingering hands… He loved every second of contact he could siphon.</p><p>     Working at the US Embassy in Moscow brought him quite a lot less contact. Standing around and looking tough doesn’t provide for much interaction, after all. For obvious reasons, life after the bombs dropped left little to no friendly interactions at all, save for Colonel Melnikov and the occasional indifferent soldier.</p><p>     Over the years, Sam took a liking to many of those indifferent soldiers, as well as some civilians. One soldier in particular, however, affected Sam in a different way. This is because the soldier was, well… just different. The modern day philosopher brought out something in Sam that he hadn’t had since before the bombs dropped. The man calls himself Idiot, the real reason for which Sam does not know, but he likes to make fun of him by saying it is because of his taste in authors. The way his round, scarred face scrunches up a little when he thinks, or how his eyes squint when he smiles makes Sam just want to reach out and touch his shaven face. He wants to feel the five o’clock shadow lightly scratch under his thumb while he looks into those wide yet knowing brown eyes. He wants to trace the scars on his cheeks and-</p><p>     “Ground control to Sam!” Jolted out of his thoughts, Sam rips his eyes from the chow hall table to look up at his friend. Alyosha waves his hand in Sam’s direction. “Are you even listening? How am I supposed to get some Polis girls if you don’t focus!” Sam rolls his eyes good naturedly at that. “What’s my focus got to do with your slim chances?” Alyosha scoffs and leans back, clearly offended. “You’re my wingman, obviously!” He shouts, gesturing dramatically as some rangers pass by. Alyosha’s overreactions are a common occurrence in D6, so most aren’t bothered by it.</p><p>     “Alright, alright. I’ll try my best to be smooth to compensate for you next time we go out drinking in Polis.” Sam says with a laugh. Ignoring the jab, Alyosha claps his hand together, “And I,” he puffs out his chest which earns a tiny chuckle from Sam, “will repay you by acting as your wingman as well!” A warm laugh rings out that makes Sam’s heart do a little flip. He looks up to see Idiot, who has walked in from the shooting range and approaches to lean on their table. “I’m not sure if that’s the best idea, Sam. You might have better luck on your own.”</p><p>     Alyosha continues his dramatic little rant while Idiot takes a seat next to Sam. The second Idiot moves closer to him, Sam’s brain flatlines and he tunes out Alyosha completely, letting Alyosha speak, laughing when Idiot does, and nodding occasionally. Jesus, what is wrong with him? He’s a grown man, old enough to have a grown child, why can’t he handle something like this? Alyosha excuses himself to his room for the night, leaving the two in the cafeteria together. Most Spartans have already left to either sleep, shoot, or gather in the barracks to talk.</p><p>     Idiot moves to where Alyosha was sitting to make conversation less awkward. Sam’s eyes are glued to his form as he walks. It’s weird to admit, but Sam could pinpoint the man in a crowd of 1000 just because of the way he walks. Idiot flashed a grin at him as he sat, “So, comrade American,” he says flattening a hand on the table, “I have a question.” Sam folds his hands under his chin to rest his head on, his fingers forming a mock prayer to… something. Idiot maybe. What is he praying for? To not look like a complete dipshit.</p><p>     “So, I’ve been reading recently,” Idiot starts, averting his eyes slightly. Sam nods, nursing his nearly empty glass of kompot, “Dostoevsky?” He asks with a smile. Idiot’s obsessions with those old philosophers is one of the things Sam loves about him. “Naturally,” the other man replies “Anyway, I keep finding this quote of his: ‘man grows used to everything.’” He pauses, waiting for a reaction, “Well…” he averts his eyes again, “It’s strange how it always reminds me of our whole situation here. However, it especially reminds me of you.” Sam feels a tingle of heat rise to his face as he clears his throat. “How so?”</p><p>     “Well, it just seems that most of us are so used to our circumstances here. Nobody wants to leave anymore, like they did at the beginning. Everyone has apparently found some sort of life for themselves, good or bad. We have it good here while others fight in piles to get even a scrap of food…” Idiot takes himself away from Sam’s real question by rambling. This habit of his isn’t that unheard of, as Idiot tends to go on and on for hours without sticking to an original point. Sam never really minds, though. He could listen to him talk forever. The way he subtly moves his hands around when he speaks, the faraway look he gets when he’s so deep in thought that his verbal filter just stops. The way he doesn’t hold back when he really gets into a topic, even if it may offend the person he is talking to. The way his lips move with each syllable, carefully and thoughtfully-</p><p>     “...and you don’t really talk about America anymore you know? Have you, in a sense, gotten used to life here? Would you ever want to go back?” Sam blinks, forcing himself out of his daze, and realizing that he hadn’t been listening for most of their conversation. “Uh, I dunno, actually.” Nice, Sam. “I mean- it’s just… How would I even get back at this point? I don’t think there are enough air filters in the whole Metro for me to go trek across the entirety of Russia. Even then, how would I get to San Diego from there?” Idiot nods thoughtfully, staring at Sam.</p><p>     “Did you have family there?” Idiot asks gently. Sam realizes that he’s never really talked about his dad with Idiot before. He nods slowly, “My dad. He’s probably like 70 now or something…” Sam left out what he was thinking. <em>If he’s even still alive.</em> Those words hang in the air a little, even without him saying them. Idiot clears his throat “Hey, if you want to talk some more, I’ve got a bottle of wine I’ve been hiding for a bit. We could take this elsewhere?” Sam’s weird mood is instantly lifted when he hears those words. A toothy grin rises to his face, “Hell yeah.”</p><p>——-</p><p>     It’s around 1 am, most soldiers who have to get up in the morning are asleep, and Idiot and Sam are laughing and finishing a bottle of wine in Sam’s private quarters. One of the perks of being the Colonel’s bodyguard is that he gets his own room, rather than those shitty barrack bunks the others have. It gets lonely at times, but at least he has his space.</p><p>     “No, I’m just saying!” Sam says with a laugh, his cheeks slightly pink from just a couple glasses of wine. He always hated what a lightweight he was, but it made it easier to have a good time if he wanted to. “The first person to get sleep paralysis must have thought they were cursed by a witch or something!” Idiot cackles at Sam’s ramblings, leaning against him as he shakes with laughter. They end up in a giggling mess, leaning on each other on the floor, their backs resting on the side of Sam’s bed. Sam nuzzles his head on Idiot's shoulder, not really realizing what he’s doing, though Idiot doesn’t seem to mind.</p><p>     “So,” Sam says, lifting his head to turn to his friend “I kinda feel bad callin’ you ‘Idiot’. Y’know?” His Californian mannerisms come through in his tipsy speech. He doesn’t notice the endearing trait, but Idiot does. “What’s your real name?” A small smile twitches at Idiot’s lips “Sergei.” Sam looks at the floor, nodding. “Sergei…” he repeats quietly, as he tilts his head back onto Sergei’s shoulder. Sergei smells faintly of gunpowder and some fancy French cologne that he paid a pretty cartridge for some months back.</p><p>     He feels Sergei take a deep breath before shifting to look at Sam. Immediately, Sam’s heart drops into his stomach, knowing that he crossed some sort of line. He shouldn’t have been touchy, damnit what’s wrong with him? Sam attempts to keep a blank face while he looks into those eyes the color of the floods up on the surface. He remembers his daydream from hours ago and desperately tries to shove it down while Sergei studies his face.</p><p>     “Sam?” Sergei asks, cautiously, his voice almost shaking. Oh. That is not the tone Sam was expecting. “Yeah?” Sam says, voice almost a whisper as he leans closer to Sergei. Sergei slowly snakes a lightly trembling hand up Sam’s arm and settles it on the back and side of Sam’s neck. Sam lets out a shaky breath as he feels Sergei’s thumb swipe the side of his jaw, sending shivers up his spine. Any thought in Sam’s head is gone and forgotten as he focuses on the touch and craves so much more. He leans a little closer, desperate for what comes next.</p><p>     “Can I-” Sergei starts to whisper before he’s cut off by an impatient Sam closing the gap. Sam kisses him slowly and carefully, trying hard not to screw up whatever heaven is happening right now. He brings his right hand up to Sergei’s chest and his left to grip the other man’s leg, lightly squeezing. Sergei tastes like wine, and Sam is getting drunk off of every millisecond he gets to touch him like this. Sergei lets out a little noise from the back of his throat that makes Sam dizzy.</p><p>     They break apart for a second just to breathe, and Sam looks at the masterpiece in front of him. Sergei, with his face pink and panting, his hands on Sam and looking at him with a look Sam had never seen from him. It makes him want to keep Sergei like this all the time. He would be fine if he suddenly went blind, and this was the last thing he ever saw. Sergei was the one that started things back up this time, kissing Sam and moving the hand on his neck to undo the small ponytail on the back of Sam’s head and run his fingers through his hair.</p><p>     Sergei moves slowly to get on top of Sam, straddling him as Sam leaned against his bed. They break apart again, foreheads pressed against each other. “Should we move onto the bed?” Sergei asked as he moved his hips against Sam, drawing a small gasp from Sam’s lips. “Yeah.” Sam replied breathily.</p><p>——-</p><p>     It is around 2 am, almost everyone else in D6 is asleep, save for some soldiers that just got off watch, some younger guys gathered in a barracks drinking homemade beer, and Sam and Idiot, who are now very tired after cleaning themselves. Sam places another lazy kiss on the corner of Sergei’s mouth and proceeds to bury his face in the crook of the other man’s neck, where it had been just minutes before in a very different context. Sergei wraps his arms around Sam and squeezes while Sam fits his leg in between his. The tangle of limbs provides an other-worldly comfort to Sam as he takes slow breaths. “Ты идеален.” Sergei says, not bothering to try to speak in English. Sam hums and kisses his neck. Maybe Sergei was right, he did have better luck on his own.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I can’t wrote NFSW it makes me uncomfy lmfao sorry</p></blockquote></div></div>
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